My Sherlock
by Wholockian276962628
Summary: John is engaged, which means he'll be moving out of 221B Baker Street and leaving Sherlock- How could they cope without each other?


Sherlock had been acting strangely as of late. Granted, he had always acted strangely, as long as I'd known him, but this was different. This was bad; something was wrong. He was acting... well, normal. It was like he had become a ordinary human being. He actually responded whenever I spoke to him, he _ate_, and on occasion he even made jokes. Very unlike him.

It really wasn't a time for me to be thinking of my soon-to-be _former_ roommate. Mary and I were out registering for wedding gifts. Actually, she was registering gifts while I stood awkwardly by and pretended I was helping. I likely wouldn't have been much use then even if my thoughts had been focused on what I was doing, but I just couldn't stop thinking about what was bothering Sherlock. He might pretend he didn't have any friends, but we both knew how important he was to me, and I couldn't stand to see him troubled, especially when I didn't know the cause.

"John!"

"Hm?" I suddenly looked up, jolted out of my thoughts.

"I asked what you think of this pattern." I honestly had no opinion on the appearance of the plates that we'd have in our flat, but I tried to make one up. Mary sighed. "Okay, let's go."

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

"No, it's okay, John. The girls and I still have some decisions to make about their bridesmaid dresses, and it's clear you're bored. I can do this another time."

"Are you sure?" she gave me a very pointed look, the one she had when she was reading my mind.

"Go."

* * *

I was rather sentimental as I stepped through the door of 221B; I would miss that flat. I found Sherlock standing by the window, coaxing unusually soft and sweet notes from his violin. Hearing the door open, he spun around to face me.

"Hello, John," he smiled-_ smiled_- without dropping his bow from the violin's strings, "How was registering?"

"Boring," I said truthfully, "Sherlock, we need to talk." He look at me strangely, though being Sherlock, he'd probably seen this coming.

"Okay," he set the instrument down on the desk and sat in his chair, "So, talk."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered just a little too quickly.

"Sherlock, I know you," I pressed, "Something is bothering you. You've been acting strangely since- well, I don't know, exactly. I suppose since around when- _Oh!_" and suddenly it clicked. _That_ was what had been bothering him. "You've been acting strangely ever since Mary and I announced our engagement. He shot an accusing glance at me. "I'm not saying anything like that," I added hastily, "but it is something to do with the wedding, isn't is?"

Sherlock looked away for a long time, and when he spoke again, he seemed to be his old self.

"Do you remember what I told you, John?"

I blinked. "Um..."

"'Lost without my blogger,'" he said, looking back at me. After an awkward beat, he pushed himself out of the chair and went to the door. "I meant it."

And he left, leaving me sitting, rather confused, alone in 221B.

* * *

**Sherlock paced back and forth in the empty lab at the hospital. He didn't really have a case to work on, of course, just needed a place to be alone and think, but no one ever questioned him being there. Why did he have to go and say that? This was yet another example of emotions and sentiment being nothing but pointless obstacles that obscured clear, proper thought. Yes, he would miss John terribly, more than words could say, but why did he have to _tell_ him that?**

**For that matter, why did he let John get engaged in the first place? He had just waited too long; he knew how John had felt about him-how John still felt about him, actually, though now he denied it to himself-and he had always felt the same way, so why hadn't he done anything about it? He'd never felt any kind of strong emotion before, and he wasn't sure how to handle it. But now, he wished he had just done something, anything, to let John know.**

**And the worst thing, John probably thought the opposite, now. Being as he was, Sherlock would obviously have been able to tell how John felt; John would know that he knew. His waiting so long, never doing anything to reciprocate, had likely indicated to John that he _didn't_ feel the same way.**

**Oh yes, emotions were pointless.**

* * *

At last, I understood. I was leaving- leaving 221B, leaving Sherlock. I knew it was hurting me, but I'd never have dreamed that he could admit it would hurt him just as badly.

I found Sherlock in the one place besides our flat where he seemed to feel at home; he didn't look up from his pacing when I stepped into the lab, though he did nod slightly as he walked my way. About a foot away from me, he stopped pivoted, and started to walk away again, but I reached out and caught his arm.

I felt his pulse quicken as my hand trailed down his wrist to lace my fingers through his. He sighed before turning to look at me. For once, I did not find The Look so very annoying, because this time we _did_ both know what was really going on. A good thing, too, because I'm certain Sherlock will go to his deathbed without ever having actually spoken about- or admitting he had- feelings.

I reached up to rake my other hand through his hair and pull him close, pressing my lips gently to his. Oh, god, what was I doing? I was engaged, I was supposed to get married in two months, and you know what? In that moment I really couldn't have cared less. Any and every bad thing that could result from this was worth enduring, for Sherlock. God, I love him.

Then I pulled away, he gave me a little smile, and I turned to leave the lab, trailing Sherlock behind me.

Sherlock...

_My _Sherlock.


End file.
